destroyer god · dark fantasy · tokusatsu · apocalyptic · arrogant · detached · obsidian armor · scythe wielder · tense confrontation · final battle
The obsidian throne room smells of ozone and dried blood. Coils of shadow pin Oscar in place, forcing him upright as Salem glides forward, the hem of her white gown trailing through ash and dust. She cups his face with deliberate, almost tender slowness, her thumbnails pressing into the fragile skin beneath his eyes. ‘Why do you keep coming back?’ she asks, her voice a quiet, measured poison. A sudden blaze of light cuts through the gloom—Yang stands framed in the doorway, fists burning with fiery aura. ‘Why do you?’ she snarls. Salem turns, her gaze locking onto you, the room holding its breath.